


Breathless

by facade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6283726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look disaffected. Look disaffected. You don’t care. You don’t care. You care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the second fiction I've ever written; it was originally uploaded on here a little over two years ago and preceded Break Me under the title "What Isn't May Be" (at least I think that's what the WIMB stands for on my file name). I pulled off all of my work that came before Break Me as I grew quite radically as a writer during my Shards of Us series (that's been neglected in a way most inexcusable) and it was disrupting to go between my one shots and my series after a certain amount of time; I transitioned into the psychological writer I am now during that series (psychological meaning I now focus more on a character's interior and place more value, more emphasis on their thoughts, ideas, and feelings and go into extensive detail of that). I'm merely posting this because looking back helps, it helps me realise my own growth as a writer and I always struggle in finding this on my hard drive when I need it as it is older (and I write a lot). Plus, my OTP tag is usually dead and that's a tragedy. 
> 
> I don't have the gall to post my first ever work though, not yet. It's awful, awful stuff.
> 
> I refuse to edit this due to aforementioned reasons.

_Breathe_ , he told himself as he anxiously ran his fingers through his hair, _just fucking breathe_. It seemed easy enough, thoughtless enough: the simple non voluntary action of breathing, but it was proving to be anything but within the moment. His thoughts were so weighed down by... He shook his head before the thought could pull him further under; even the simplest things -- like breathing and walking, even talking -- were proving to be too difficult of a task. Breathe in, and this is where it started to hurt; getting rid of air, an impossible task when he felt as if he had none. Every exhale pained him as it felt as if all of the wind had already been knocked out of him when…

No matter, he still had some to spare as he exhaled exaggeratedly into the empty spaces of his locker, swallowing his impulse to gasp and plead for his breaths to return to him. If only he could get rid of those thoughts. Perhaps everything would start making sense again if he could expel them in the manner he expelled air, get rid of the thoughts and all else would fall in line; perhaps if he could were to expel the carbon dioxide from his body with enough force the hopeful, yet entirely impossible and misleading thoughts in his head would follow suite, would leave him and disperse into the nothingness of the thick, stale air of the locker room. The force of a thousand men later and the thoughts were still there - lingering, taunting him, tempting him. He sighed in defeat; they were anchored in there.

For the first time in the past sixty seconds he opened his eyes, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he was thrown back into his reality: the place where he no longer felt secure, where he found his happiness to be either elusive or momentary, where no one truly knew who he was - not even himself. He shook his head and tried to swallow down the knot he felt forming in his throat as he felt his heart swell, overcome with a foreign sentiment - not an unrecognizable one, this loneliness - just unrelatable, new for him. He would’ve never stuck the label “lonely” on himself before, he was surrounded by friends and family so the thought had never occurred to him, at least it had never existed until he had realized that being alone and being lonely were two entirely different things. It took one thought and three seconds, three seconds tops, and he was unsettled. Confronted with the ideal yet not wholly realistic apparition of what his life could be like, everything he could have if he was truly honest with himself, his life with the one thing he needed to be genuinely happy; he only felt lonely when he realized what was missing from his life, that one thing that could be everything.

He did his best to shake off the thought for the thirtieth time within those past few moments - it was as if it was on loop - and slammed his locker closed. He couldn’t get caught up in wishful thinking. He had too much to think about, too many other people to care about to be wrapped up in the what-ifs of something that could never be. It took all of three seconds - it was only three seconds - for him to start building a whole new future, a whole new him with a whole new face at his side. Three seconds. No. It was one moment and moments are fleeting.

Shrugging off the newfound weight of his epitome, he finally turned and glanced around the locker room, his eyes falling to the few teammates that had lingered. He felt a small smile creep up on his face as he overheard a few of their conversations:

He could hear Pepe talking kids with Marcelo in his native tongue and the glint in both of their eyes told him someone’s child had just hit a milestone or the Cheerio in the toilet from what he was hearing. Sure he could have jumped in because Cristianinho had just written his name for the first time but he couldn’t be further from the ‘doting parent’ within the moment. It wasn’t his own doing of course, Cristianinho was his life but that was a problem to his mother because “there’ll come a day when he leaves you Cris and what will you have then? Will you be as happy as you make him?” He had spent the past three years of his life devoted to his son, consumed by his son, without him he was… nothing. And the thoughts began again. No, he couldn’t talk to Marcelo and Pepe.

He shifted his focus from the Portuguese speakers and found Iker and Xabi babbling excitedly about regaining their fitness for the upcoming matches. He knew the feeling, the need, the need to be on the pitch and the need to help your team put the ball in the back of the net... or keep it out of it as Iker and Xabi meant to do. As he continued to listen to them discuss the details of the Confederations Cup he realized that he didn’t have much in common with Iker and Xabi: he was Portuguese and they, Spaniard to the core. Iker and Xabi’s sole purpose was to defend their goal while he attacked the rivals. He wanted to be distracted, not be reminded of how out-of-place he truly was.

A slight turn of his head and he immediately relaxed as he caught sight of Sami and Mesut seeming to be in deep thought over whatever it was they were muttering about. Their conversations were always upbeat, always distracting…. Always German. He groaned as the foreign tongue reached his ears and reset his eyes to the doors and began walking towards them. He felt a hand pull at his arm suddenly and he turned to find the large eyes of Mesut curiously looking at him and found the German’s lips uttering broken Spanish.

“Hey, Cris? Are you in a rush?” The Turk-German rushed out as he caught the brown eyes of the Portuguese winger. “You see, Sami and I were just talking about something? To be honest, I’ve forgotten what it was about but I know we can’t seem to agree on it...” The smaller man trailed as he set his eyes to the tiles of the locker room in thought.

Sami chuckled as he shook his head at his compatriot and gently squeezed the winger’s shoulder. “Cris,” Sami started off seriously, forming a command hand as his words passed his lips, “Mesut and I were talking about the signs of a progressing relationship. You’re friends with a girl…”

He closed his eyes as the words found him, he was a visual person, and he was immediately greeted by the image of a Russian beauty, a woman who was once his, was still to the knowledge of his teammates. A flicker of remorse flashed across his features as he quickly remembered their last conversation, the last they had as a couple and first conversation they had shared as friends. She said she understood, she said she would always be there for him no matter what, but it was what she didn’t say that stuck with him the most: the hurt clearly written on her face, the shock, the disappointment, the tears and bleeding mascara on her cheeks… He could hear Mesut chuckling and mumbling something about how into the situation he was getting and meaninglessly smiled and hushed the number ten.

Sami laughed lightly but continued after Mesut had finished his light-hearted rebuttal. “You’re close with her, so close that she may be more than just a friend but a friend nonetheless. Everything is fine between the two of you, perfect even but then, out of the blue, she wants to talk to you about something and is setting up a lunch date. Obviously, she wants what the two of you have established and labelled but what do you do? Have the talk or do you bail?”

He opened his eyes as soon as Sami finished laying out the situation and quizzically scrunched his face together. He couldn't relate to the situation anymore if he wanted to, a friend who was more than a friend, one of the two wanting and needing establishment… So does he bail or have the talk? Does he ruin what is a fantastic friendship plus some or does he put himself out there - all or nothing?

“I would say screw it, bail out.” Mesut blurted out just before he took a gulp of liquid out of his bottled water. “If it isn’t broken and if you have a good thing going, why fix it, why screw it up? Clearly she’s after solidarity, monogamy between the two of you, but I…”

“Fuck you, Mes,” he vocalized firmly before he had the time to catch his tongue. He didin’t know what was happening to him, what the feeling was that he was suddenly becoming overwhelmed by was, but his tongue seemed to be moving faster than his feet ever had and was still evading him. “Fuck you and fuck that. Just because something is working for you, just because it makes sense to you, it doesn’t necessarily mean it makes sense to the other person. What if having a friendship isn’t enough, what if the mere term “friends” hollows the other person and makes them feel… unworthy? What if doing nothing but playing PES with you or sharing a joke with you is turning the other person into little more than a clusterfuck of confusion? Maybe all they want is… I don’t know? Clarity.” He didn’t know when his voice had escalated nor did he know when the attention of everyone else within the locker room fell on him but he was flushed and breathing quite heavily by the time he finished his thought. He found Mesut’s eyes, looking dangerously close to popping out of his skull, and immediately regretted his outburst. “I’m sorry, Mes,” he immediately started, “I didn’t mean to… I’m going through some…”

“It’s fine,” the smaller German interrupted while waving his hand dismissively. “I never thought of it that way. You made a pretty solid point, I just didn’t know you were so… passionate about it.”

His eyes darted wildly between the two Germans and he found himself smiling as Sami chuckled about having a talk with Lena. He decided that he had done enough damage for one night and found the closest exit route, apologizing to Mesut a second time just before he politely dismissed himself from the company of the German duo. He started digging around in his pockets as soon as he set foot outside of the Cuidad, silently cursing himself for exploding on the bright-eyed German and for not having pulled out his remote key sooner, but froze as soon as he heard that voice; the voice of the human being that had catalysed the very irrational thoughts he had been trying to avoid since the ending of the days training session, the voice of the person who was truly behind his emotional outburst.  

“Hey, hey. Sex-aye!” Sergio called out from behind the Portuguese, letting the door slip through his fingers and close behind him, giggling at his horrid rhyming ability all the while. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“He-he-hey, Sergio,” he stuttered back, eyes momentarily widening in disbelief that he had actually just stuttered. He never stuttered, he was the very definition of confidence and yet, he had, in fact, just stuttered. He groaned as he heard Sergio chuckle, bracing himself for the torment that would surely come from his blunder.

“Did you just stutter, man?” Sergio pulled his lips back to form a grin that covered half of his face, crinkles forming around his bright eyes. Cristiano had been acting like this and had been doing things uncharacteristic of his nature all day. He found it charming but, at the same time, concerning.

“Stutter?” He feigned shock and tried to come across as scandalized. If he didn’t play it off, Sergio would figure out that something was wrong as he was a hound for that kind of thing. Sergio and Iker alike could always sense when something was wrong with a person, when something was off with them. “Ha! You took me by surprise. I thought you had left with everyone else so you scared me. I mean, that face would make anyone jump…” Play it off.

“...into bed with me.” Sergio laughed out lightheartedly before the winger could finish what he was going to say. He couldn’t believe what he had just said but figured that if he kept laughing he could play it off. Yeah, just play it off.  

He thought about smiling but that’s all it was, a thought, and his thoughts were becoming ever more dangerous with each passing second. He kept his focus on not turning around, telling himself that meeting those curious, almond brown eyes would be his demise and immediately started digging around in his pocket again. He could feel the outside of his key and cursed as it snagged the inner fabric of his pocket. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Sergio ask him in a softer, more sincere voice if everything was okay.

“Cristiano. On a serious note, is everything okay with you? I mean, you seemed a little… off after, well you know.”

“I don’t think I do know, Sergio.” He feigned ignorance as he turned and stared pointedly at the freshly shaven chin of the Spaniard; he sure as fuck wasn’t going to look into those eyes, that’s for damn sure. “Irina and I broke up but it was, it was mutual and civilized. It would have never worked out between us but outside of that, nothing’s changed. If you’re worried about how I’m taking what happened on the pitch, don’t,” he sighed as he offered the Spaniard’s chin a meaningless wink. “You’ve kissed me on the neck more times than I can count. It means nothing…” he tried, hoping with all his soul that the Sevillan would buy it because he sure as hell wasn’t.

_Look disaffected. Look disaffected. You don’t care. You don’t care. You care._

It was actually the first time it had happened since his mom had asked him about his happiness, since she had begged him to take care of his own emotional well-being. It was the first thing he’s been able to pinpoint as a source of happiness, three minutes of everything making sense, three minutes of clarity… It was strange for him to find himself questioning his sexuality after so many years but at the same time, after years of being consumed by diapers and football, it wasn’t strange at all. It had always been about someone else - being successful and focusing on his career so that his family and friends could have better lives - and for the first time, for the first time since he’s worn that number seven, he was being told to think about himself.

Sergio looked down at the pavement, silently thankful that Cristiano wasn’t looking him in the eye because he had no idea of how to explain what Cristiano may find. The pain of disappointment he was sure was pouring out of his irises? The flash of sheer failure as Cris voiced that the kiss, the kiss he had built himself up to doing after several weeks, allowing it to linger and drag on longer than usual, was nothing? How do you explain that kind of hurt to a person?

_Look disaffected. Look disaffected. You don’t care. You don’t care. You care._

“Well, as long as you’re not mad I guess I’ll be able to sleep easier tonight.” Sergio lied flashing a false smile at his shoes. He felt a heavy pressure set in his chest and he could feel his throat slowly closing and drying.

“That would imply you have a conscious and not be the soulless blood sucking creature I’ve always associated you with.” He laughed out as he finally pulled the key free of his pocket.

Sergio burst out laughing as Cristiano’s wit reached him, accidentally snorting in the process and drawing a fit of laughter from his Portuguese company. The two collapsed in hysterics to the asphalt of the parking lot until the pains of failure, of loneliness, of denial and confusion seemed to seep out of them and flow back into the core of the earth.

“That. That was. The ugliest noise…” the winger giggled while slapping at his cheeks, the blood surfacing just beneath his skin to create a light crimson blush. He could feel Sergio’s eyes on him but struggled in finding the other man’s eyes as they were squeezed shut in amusement.

“What the fuck was that?” Sergio choked out, still trying to restore oxygen to his own body as he finally sat upright.

“Numb. Just had to get the blood flowing again. You know, revitalize,” the forward stated a matter-of-factly, while touching his cheeks and leaning his back against the side of his car. “That felt good, to laugh like that. I really needed that.”

“Oh yeah?” Sergio sighed as he angled his body a bit more towards Cristiano, leaning his cheek against the frame of Cristiano’s car. “Why is that? ...and don’t bother trying to bullshit me again, Cris. I know you too well, my friend.”

“That’s just it,” the number seven blurted out, recovering quickly before Sergio could decipher his blunder, “I feel as if I don’t know me anymore. It’s not about what happened with Irina, not really, it was before that. Everyone keeps calling me Cris but I don’t… I don’t feel like I’m the person they’re talking to, the person they know. At least not anymore.”

Sergio stared at the other man in awe, knowing the feeling all too well but finding himself incapable of proper consolation. He hummed in agreement, though he was certain Cristiano didn’t understand exactly what he meant in his hums, and followed Cristiano’s gaze to the rest of their teammates finally exiting the facility. He smiled as he watched a small smile form on Cristiano’s lips and he felt himself drawn to the other man as Cristiano giggled lightly at something in the distance - in the corner of his eye, he saw Xabi spin in a circle of confusion - and suddenly, Cristiano was so close, too close. Close enough to...

...and there they were again; those thoughts, the thoughts surging back through him, taunting him. The thoughts overwhelmed him entirely and for a moment, for a moment he believed them to be the reality. And there! Right there on his neck, a familiar feeling. The feeling of those lips dancing across his skin, lingering there. He closed eyes slowly yet tightly and reopened them rapidly hoping to come to grips with reality but, at the same, time, hoping that it was his reality. He repeated this multiple times but he still felt them. Those lips bringing with them those thoughts, those unrealistic, irrational, desirable thoughts. His breathing hitched to a panic and for a few moments he felt as if he had become delusional. “What the fuck was that?” Cristiano asked as he tried to catch his breath, just in case it wasn’t his imagination, just in case those lips really were there. He hesitantly placed his fingers over the targeted place on his neck, feeling the faint moisture just before pressing them to his lips as he looked questioningly at Sergio.

Sergio gently pushed the fingers of the winger aside, slowly replacing Cris’ long fingers with his own full lips, taking his bottom lip between his lips instantly moaning at the taste of the other man. The other man wasn’t responding, he seemed paralytic, but Sergio didn’t want to think of what had rendered the other man to such a state. He only knew one thing, that he had to do this here and now while he had the nerve. He had no idea of what he was doing and he didn’t want the think of the plausible consequences that could result from this… but he had to know. He intended for the kiss to be slow, purposeful, perfect. In theory, a lingering, slow, thoughtful kiss. Nobody told him that theories, when combined with the reality of a situation, his lips against his, had a tendency to stray. _“Gentle, be damned,”_ he mentally corrected himself as he poured all he had into that kiss, every emotion he’d felt since Cris’ arrival in Madrid taking over: admiration, respect, lust, love. Emotion followed by every message of inspiration Cris had injected in him: _It’s alright Sergio, I missed my PK, too. / It’s alright Sergio, at least your own goal wasnt a game ‘loser’ like mine was. / Sergio, who fucking knew you were a boss at free kicks. I can’t believe you were holding out on us._  He was putting himself out there, shouting a final Hail Mary and praying that what isn’t may very well be. After several long moments, he pulled away slowly and hesitantly, panting for either air or more of the Portuguese he didn’t know but only would sustain him so more it was… He brushed his lips against the other’s one final time and mustered up every fiber of confidence he held within his being as he finally locked eyes with Cristiano’s, pleasantly surprised by what he found: a soft smile, a deep blush, pure vulnerability and willingness.

“Wh-what was that?” The winger stuttered as his eyes darted between full, pink lips and bright, almond eyes.

Sergio smiled as he gently placed his hand over his heart. “It’s been numb for some time now. I guess I just had to get the blood flowing again. You know, revitalize,” he whispered just before he leaned in again, and if the feeling of Cristiano’s lips hadn’t sent him to Cloud Nine by now then the last thing he saw before his eyes closed at the contact, the sight of Cristiano leaning in halfway to meet him in the kiss, was sure to put him there.

  
  



End file.
